


We it is who balance ourselves orbic and stellar

by The_Colonel



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles You Slut, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Charles is a Professor, Chess, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Erik is smitten, Football | Soccer, M/M, Matchmaker Raven, Modern Era, Ooops, Raven is a bit of a Sherlock, Raven might be a Brit, There will be Porn, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2634170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Colonel/pseuds/The_Colonel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long story short, my first fic in English (which is not my native language), so, please, be extra gentle with me, Gentle Reader. And I, in turn, promise to be gentle with my characters, especially with Charles and Erik. Because they deserve it. And also because... you know... reasons.<br/>This work will probably take some time to assemble itself in the corridors of my brain, and will definitely take even longer time to get transformed into writing. So bear with me. Or not. I do, however, hope for the best.:)<br/>I have no beta (yet?), so feel free to help me out, if any of you guys ou there feel like it.<br/>All the typos, inconsistencies and US/UK cultural errors are solely mine.<br/>Disclaimer: What, on the other hand, isn´t mine, is the story, the universe and the characters from the sprawling X-Men saga. All credit for that goes to Marvel etc. etc. Aaaah, I´m sure you know the rest.<br/>Also, title taken from one of Walt Whitman´s poems. Go read that man and his heart. Seriously. Stop reading my shitty fic and dive (at the very least) into "Leaves of Grass". There be some gay porn(ish) moments there too, trust me. ;)<br/>And also, it is a hellishly delicious read.<br/>Copy? Roger!<br/>The Colonel out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So good to see you

Charles stood in a quiet corner of the busy pub, his back and elbows propped against the bar counter, a glass of beer in hand, a private smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Former fan of large, boisterous, drunken parties, these days Charles preferred intimate get togethers with a few friends of his own choosing. This night, however, was something rather special, what with the bi-yearly need of Dr. Mildew, the Head of the Department and the King of the Hill, to socialize with his long-suffering subjects, and what with the autumnal influx of new students that had to be welcomed and approved of both by their seniors and a few willing staff members of the Department of English Language and Literature. And, not to forget, Charles was also promised a sighting of that rarest of creatures, a fabled New Member of the Staff, a unicorn so unique and so precious, not only because he was New and Fresh, but also because he was Foreign. He was supposed to be German, if the rumours were true. God knew that the faculty could use a breeze of _frische_ _Luft_.

Charles Xavier, too, belonged to this particular category of mammals. _Homo sapiens mutans - europaensis_.  A Brit moving to America, a piece of driftwood washed upon a distant shore, a stranger in Strangeland with nothing but his suitcase, his sister and his overflowing bank account to hold on to (yes, the Xaviers were quite “in the money” as Charles´ mother would have put it; Charles was not going to brag about it, nor was he going to apologize). But the novelty of his accent, his refined manners, and his heavy-duty drinking has gradually worn off and now he was _One of the Staff_ to Dr. Mildew, _Professor X_ to most of his MA students, _The Cardigan Man_ to all of his BA students, and _Jesuscharlesyoushouldgetlaidthisisnothealthy_ to his lovely and loving (in her own, slightly demented way) sister Raven.

Speaking of the Devil…

“Any luck so far, Chezza?”

Charles winced painfully at Raven´s abominable taste in nicknames and decided to ignore it altogether. “With the drinking and smiling and avoiding Dr.Mildew, you mean?”

“No, silly,” Raven pouted and brushed an invisible speck of dust off Charles´ shoulder. “With the grand scheme to end all schemes, I mean.”

“And pray, what is the grand scheme?” Charles asked, amused in spite of himself.

“Why, to get you hooked up with a tall, dark, slightly unshaven and slightly emotionally bruised man with a monster of a dick who likes to cuddle as much as you do, to get you two gay married, and lastly to get him to get you great with his mutant babies.”

“There are several… There is almost everything wrong with that statement, Raven.”

“You´re such a spoilsport!”

“And you are... There are currently no words in the whole sprawling and ever expanding system that we call the English language that could even remotely describe what you are, sister dear. But we love you anyway.”

Raven stuck out her tongue at Charles, ordered herself another Adios Motherfucker and turned back to her older brother. The look that she gave him was uncharacteristically wistful. “Really, Charles, I just… I´d like to see you happy for a change, you know?”

“But I am happy,” said Charles with a small dimpled smile.

“Sure you are,” said Raven softly, patted Charles on the back and turned her gaze away from him, towards the entrance door, just in time to see a tall, lean and undoubtedly male figure walk in. Raven narrowed her eyes. Then cocked her head to one side. Then glanced back at Charles. “Say, Charlie… How does the new German guy look? Seen him already?”

Charles swallowed a mouthful of beer, dried his lips with the heel of his hand and shook his head. “Nope. I missed the meeting where Mildew introduced him. But… uhm…”

“But uhm?” Raven raised an eyebrow.

Charles chortled with suppressed laughter. “Moira described him as a... what were the exact words? Oh yes… She said he looked like a ´Greek god of a man, with body of an athlete and brooding good looks of a vintage Hollywood movie star.´ Read into that what you will.”

“Hm,” said Raven.

“Hm?” asked Charles.

“Hm,” repeated Raven and swallowed half of her cocktail with one mighty gulp. “Say, Charlie… Do you at least know the German guy´s name?”

“It´s uh… Erik Something or Other. Some common German surname, I guess.” Charles smiled sheepishly. “You know how I´m with remembering names.”

Raven absentmindedly noded, downed the rest of her drink and pushed off the bar. “The grand scheme is on, brother dear.”

With that the petite young woman unceremoniously elbowed her way through the crowd of students and lecturers, and, on spotting her prey, stopped in her tracks, spread her arms wide and exclaimed theatrically :”Erik, _Schatz_ , it´s ever so good to see you!”

* * *

 

 


	2. Pussycat on a leash

“Well, that wasn´t awkward at all.”

Charles sighed and ran his hand through his unruly, but glossy shock of brown hair. “I am ever so sorry, Erik. She... Well I wish I could say that she usually doesn´t act like a lunatic, but then, I do detest lying.”

The German only smiled a tight, polite, barely-there smile, and shrugged his wide shoulders. “One does not choose one´s own relatives. And besides, she meant well. I am sure she did.”

“Yeah, she´s all made of charity and compassion,” snorted Charles. “Can I at least buy you a drink to make up for it?”

“Scotch. Grant´s, if they have it. Straight.” Erik raised his thumb and his index finger. “Two glasses. You´ll join me, yes?”

Charles found himself nodding eagerly, even though whiskey usually wasn´t his poison of choice. But then, he was always ready to try something new and fresh.

They clicked their glasses and started sipping the drinks, Erik watching Charles with a wary eye the whole time. Charles started blushing under the scrutiny, but attributed it to the strong liquor in his glass and the high temperature in the pub. To alleviate the uncomfortable atmosphere (though Erik didn´t seem uncomfortable at all, oh no, he was relaxed and poised, yet attentive, and it was only Charles who was hot and bothered), Charles plunged into Small Talk.

He was very good at it, he knew. He was able to discuss the advantages of geraniums over cyclamen with little old ladies, ruminate on the many levels of fluffiness in toy unicorns with toddlers, and verbally salivate over magazine pictures of Benedict Cumberbatch and his trade-mark Coat with yet a different set of little old ladies.

To hold a friendly, casual conversation with a dashing new colleague whose sea-green eyes never left Charles´ face and who kept leaning ever so slightly but persistently into Charles´ personal space, well, that shouldn´t be a problem at all, right?

“So, Erik, what do you think of cats?” ( _Smooth, Xavier, really smooth._ )

Erik blinked twice, momentarily caught in surprise, frowning slightly. “The animal, or the musical?”

“Um… both?” ( _The eloquence! Astounding!_ )

“Love the animal, although dogs usually seem to take better to me. And the musical… Well, it depends. I´ve seen the London production during the nineties, which was wickedly good. The Berlin production, on the other hand, I didn´t care for as much.”

“That´s queer.”

Erik raised an eyebrow.

“I mean… I wouldn´t peg you as a... a fan of musicals. Not that I...” Charles knew he was babbling, but somehow he could not force his brain and his tongue to co-operate. “Not that there is anything wrong with that. I like music shows, tool. And not that… not that I think that every German has to listen to Wagner or anything. I just… You don´t seem a very "Mamma Mia!" sort of person.”

Erik´s rich, deep, vibrating peal of laughter was a pleasant surprise, albeit a brief one. “Seeming isn´t being, Charles. As a world-known literary scholar, you should be aware of that.”

Charles looked uneasy. “I can hardly be considered a world-known scholar at my age...”

“Oh, shush!” Erik ordered firmly. “I´ve read your monograph on Blake and Whitman.”

Charles, always a little bashful, a little uncertain of his own accomplishments, looked at the other man from underneath his long, long eyelashes. “And what did you think of it?”

Erik´s face split in a slow, feral, utterly un-scholarly ( _manic_ , Charles´ mind offered a word, _manic_ ) grin. “Brilliant.”

Charles, the poor sod, found himself unable to move, unable to think, unable to look away. Erik turned his three thousand watt smile off, finished the whisky, reached into the pocket of his trousers and started fiddling with his mobile phone, nothing particularly interesting in that, and yet Charles still watched him with a kind of amazed reverie. Those fluid movements, that mercurial temper, how Erik seemed to be as pleased as Punch one moment, then snap into a reserved, quiet bubble of detachment in the split of a second… The whole of Erik´s persona generated a strong, inevitable, almost gravitational pull, and Charles found himself a helpless victim of it, a comet snatched right off its own course, a blushing red dwarf, a spaceman falling back to Earth with gathering speed.

Charles desperately clung to the lifeline of professional interest. “So… What are you teaching this semester?”

Erik´s eyes left the screen of his phone. “Oh, nothing much, really. Theory of Comedy, British Television Comedy Series and, would you believe it, German Philosophy for BA students. I´ll have to revisit Leibnitz and Nietzsche and the whole fucking lot. Kant, even, the pompous fucker.”

Erik pronounced Kant as “cunt” and Charles suddenly couldn´t stop grinning.

_Have you ever seen a pussycat on a leash_

Charles coughed and tried to stop that cheesy Oceana song that started playing in his head with the sound of his own voice. He really tried. “What´s so bad about German philosophy, then?”

“Nothing, if you like your worldview ascetic, self-absorbed, and depressing as shit,” Erik replied.

Charles spilled whiskey over the front of his trousers, his hand shaking with laughter.

_Never me, never me, never on a leash_

Damn you Oceana!

He was almost glad that the Great and Mighty Mildew chose this moment to “borrow Erik for a few moments, so run along now, Mr. Xavier, there´s a good boy”.

Erik dutifully hopped off the barstool, his face once more a guarded, polite mask. “Be with you in a tic, Mr. Mildew.”

The Head of the Department reluctantly left, and Charles found himself the recipient of a long, firm, surprisingly sincere handshake. “Glad to have met you, Charles Xavier,” said Erik and his eyes were as warm as his extended hand.

“Me too, Erik...er...” Charles paused for a bit. “What is your family name, anyway?”

“Freischütz,” said Erik, as if it explained everything in the whole wide universe, and left.

“What a silly name,” Charles muttered to himself dreamily. **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize to all fans of German philosophy. It´s just that German Philosophy 101 left me scarred for life.:) So yes, it is just a silly personal grudge. 
> 
> And, oh, Oceana´s "Pussycat on a Leash" is just a click away... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VkKn4zLCB5g

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters to come. Hopefully.:)


End file.
